


Something Unaccounted For

by whatkindofnameisella



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Pining, and we just kinda all forgot, c 2 ep 11, cant believe laura bailey decided to have jester push back calebs hair, early campaign, im manipulating cannon a bit but we're in a pandamic i do what i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatkindofnameisella/pseuds/whatkindofnameisella
Summary: She squints up at your face, and you cannot look at anything but her normally unkempt bangs even more unkemptly plastered to her forehead, godsdamnyou, she is cute.Caleb and Jester take momentary shelter from the rain. Spoilers for campaign 2 episode 11.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	Something Unaccounted For

**Author's Note:**

> quick shout out to @hla-rosa for putting together the Caleb and Jester b-side moments compilation on youtube, which was how I found this moment and got motivated to write again! she's doing the lords work over there, please check all of her compilations out <3

“I guess – we just go back to the gate, right?”

She sidles up beside you at the door as you both prepare to go back out into the rain. It is not quite yet pouring, but you’d rather not wait for it to become an unavoidable chance to be drenched. This cloak is new – the first piece of new clothing you’ve had in a long, long time. Some silly, sentimental part of you that has missed comfort wants to keep it clean for as long as you can.

“ _Ja_ , you know, I had that bad time yesterday,” You look down to her, so close to the window her nose is nearly pressed against the glass, and – she looks ridiculous ( _cute_ , some traitorous part of you whispers, _endearing_ ), doesn’t she, the rain having plastered her bangs to her forehead, mussed up her curls, and when she turns to look up at you with those knowing violet eyes somehow they’re smiling a bit and – what you wouldn’t do to live so carefree. You swallow, _hard_. “But probably different guards there now, and,” you grab at the hem of your cloak, some little part of you suddenly embarrassed, standing next to her, all green and blue and embroidery, at the fact that you picked plain brown, “I have this cloak now, so –"

“You look really – can I – ?” She furrows her brows and pinches her mouth for a moment, like she’s trying to hold back from saying something, but – her hands are ignorant of her brain, you have noticed, are always seemingly independent from what little impulse control regulates her mouth, and she reaches up to the sides of your face before you have a chance to flinch at the action. 

“I’m just going to push the hair back out of your face, okay?” She says, very close to your face and beginning to run her fingers through your hair and – stop , stop, stop thinking about it, she doesn’t _mean_ anything of it, of course she doesn’t, but – it’s so delicate and _lords_ it has been so long since somebody has been so _delicate_ with you – “And like, just, this dirt on your face,” and she starts to take the hem of her sleeve and scrub it against your cheeks and among the scruff on your chin, “I’m just going to get it out a little more, okay?”

It is taking every ounce of your strength to not bolt out of the door of this inn and into the rain, even if just to have something to cool your face, new cloaks and comfort be damned. “Oh, the rain has already taken care of most of that, _ja_ – “

“Well, I know, I know – well, it’s washed it off, but…” She furrows her brow a little bit more as she wipes a little too hard at a place underneath your chin, which – you _would_ flinch at that, but she is so _gottverdammt_ close and so invested in your _gottverdammt_ face. “Now I’ve just got to get the smudges off, because – it’s – you know,” she makes one final little swipe with her sleeve, which, bless her, must be filthy by now, “It’s still kind of there.”

She finally, _finally_ , steps back, and good lords, you can breathe again. “Thank you,” you manage. She squints up at your face, and you cannot look at anything but her normally unkempt bangs even more unkemptly plastered to her forehead, gods _damn_ you, she is cute. You tilt your head to one side a bit and are glad that she is seemingly too focused on surveying her handiwork to notice the blush that is burning up your cheeks. You turn your face to the other side. “Is it good?”

“Well, you look – you look – “ And it’s then that she seems to break out of her trance and notice you watching her for a moment, horribly awkward and horribly enamored, and breaks out into a coy smile that, against your better judgement, seems to warm some part of you that has been soaked by the rain. “You look sparkling clean!” She spreads her arms wide as if you, slightly damp and coated with a week’s worth of grime everywhere but your face, are something worth beholding, ever the dramatist. “You look very…“ And she pauses for a moment, smile softening on the edge of something unaccounted for, and it seems, maybe, like she is momentarily speaking the truth, “Dashing.”

You look at each other for a moment, words lost in this suffocating feeling that has taken over the air, and – was it always so warm in here? Maybe you should just take your chance with the crownsguard outside, at least then she won’t be a foot from your face – 

“Okay, well – “

“Okay –“

“We’ll see if the guards think so, eh?” Your voice is a little rough as your eyes shift between her and the window to the rain outside – shit, it’s starting to get heavier now – and the floor and back to her. Was that a joke? Is she smiling? You forgot how to tell them somewhere along the line, probably, it’s what Beau keeps telling you – all you know is that she tells much better ones than you at least, she can get everyone else to smile. Can get you to smile.

She nods her head, and – fuck, that’s a grimace, not a smile (you would know the difference), gods, what’re you – you should really just stay to magic, you’re much better at that. “Yes.” She breathes deep and turns her attention back to the window, where an empty barrel is starting to overflow with rainwater. So much for looking put together.

“Just – just keep your cloak –“ and she’s looking back at you again, at your clothes, all furrowed brow and critical eye and gods above, why did you have to choose _brown?_ She starts tugging at the edges of her own cloak as she speaks – maybe her hands are done jumping ahead of her mind for today, and you leave a quick prayer of thanks for that. “Just keep your cloak really _tight_ on you, okay?” 

“That’s – “ You catch her eye for the smallest of seconds – she’s smiling, just a little bit, and suddenly the corners of your mouth want to smile too and there’s something stupid and childish and – carefree, you realize, giddy – buzzing around your chest. “That’s the idea, _ja_.”

Her eyes flit to the door and back to you and to the door again. “Okay.” She breathes deep, closes her eyes, and opens them. When she turns back to you she looks ready to fuck up some poor noble’s day again. That’s more like it. “Let’s go.”

She pushes the door open and you follow her out into the rain, which is, miraculously, not quite as bad as it looked. You watch her start walking up the street ahead of you and you have the urge to leave your hood down, to let the water plaster your hair to your face and drench you to the bone just so she can look at you and laugh and you can feel giddy again. The guards would stop you before you got to the gates, though. Your hunger for knowledge outranks the need for some childish fulfillment, surely.

Doesn’t it?

You put your hood up and follow her towards the Tri-Spires. It’s raining, and Jester Lavorre has agreed to buy you some books, bangs plastered to her forehead. It’d be best to get there before your cloak is too wet.

**Author's Note:**

> am I manipulating cannon a little bit? sure. do I care? not at all! we're in a pandemic and I decide when I want Caleb Widogast and Jester Lavorre to be in love with each other! it took me a month but i'm feeling a bit better about my writing, a little more inspired, and so so SO ready to fill this cr-less void with some fics. all my love to everyone right now :) hope you're doing good, take care of yourself, remember you don't owe anyone creativity right now, & I love you! <3333333333


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